


Blowing Off Steam

by ficbear



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil
Genre: Anal Sex, Fight Sex, Handcuffs, Hate Sex, Locker Room, M/M, Violence, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took him a minute to realise that Wesker had stopped. For a moment Chris wondered if he'd had his fill, but one glance up at the captain's face made his intentions clear. He was toying with Chris, letting him recover just enough to put up a fight. It was maddening; Chris had taken his share of beatings in the past, he'd been pushed around and roughed up, but he'd never been <em>played with</em>.</p><p>"You're-" He choked back a groan as his ribs blazed with pain, and pushed himself up to his feet. "You're holding back."</p><p>"Of course I am. I'm nowhere near done with you yet, Redfield."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowing Off Steam

He'd never liked paperwork. But these days, it didn't just bore him; it infuriated him, because the only reason he was having to do it at all was that Captain Wesker felt the need to prove some kind of point. And the worst of it was that Chris had been trying _so_ hard, biting back every smart comment that occurred to him, forcing his expression to stay neutral every time he wanted to scowl and glare, for _weeks_ now. But no matter how much he restrained himself, or how much effort Chris put into behaving professionally, the captain always, _always_ found something to complain about.

So here he was, filling in yet another form hours after everyone else on the team had gone home. Everyone except Captain Wesker himself. For once he'd actually stayed late too, and that should have made Chris happy, since at least he wasn't suffering alone, but the captain's presence only made it worse. All Chris could think about, while he was supposed to be dotting i's and crossing t's, was the fact that Wesker had singled out him and him alone for special treatment. God knows what Chris had done to offend him, but whatever it was had ensured that the captain had been on his case since the day they first met, and now every single day was like running a gauntlet of impossible tasks and relentless criticism. Nothing Chris did was quite good enough for Captain Wesker, and now even the sight of the man made his blood boil.

"If you spent more time on your work, and less time daydreaming, you wouldn't need to stay late every night."

Chris looked up, his face straining against the impassive expression he was desperately trying to hold onto. "Sorry, sir. I'm just tired."

"I'm not interested in excuses, Redfield. Just do your job."

Chris gritted his teeth and went back to filling in the form. His _job_ was to shoot, fly, and take point, not to file form after endless form like some kind of glorified secretary. The thought raised a bitter little smile; at least Captain Wesker hadn't asked him to type up any letters yet.

"I'm glad you find your paperwork so amusing, Redfield," the captain said, "because I'm putting you on desk duty for the next couple of weeks."

Chris forced out a weak smile, the best he could do, and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I think you could use some time out of the field. Let's face it, your performance recently has been anything but satisfactory. Perhaps the pace of Alpha Team is too much for you."

"Too m-" he interrupted himself with a cough, and stood up. His face was burning, and he knew he must be flushing redder and redder with every moment. "I need to get going. Goodnight, Captain."

He kept his cool all the way through the corridors, smiling and nodding curtly to the few remaining staff that he passed, until he finally made it to the locker room. It was empty, mercifully, and Chris put all his anger into one vicious punch that rattled the metal of his locker door.

"Ah, finally we get a glimpse of that infamous Redfield temper."

He shouldn't have been surprised to find the captain standing in the doorway, but somehow he never quite got used to how quietly the man could move. Chris took a moment to collect himself, and turned to face him.

"Sorry, sir. Just blowing off steam."

"If you've got a problem with me, Redfield," the captain said, advancing on him, "then say it to my face."

"There's no problem, sir."

"Really? It certainly looks like there is from where I'm standing."

Captain Wesker was up close now, no more than a foot away from Chris, glaring down at him with those cold eyes. He wasn't going to let this go, not now that he'd seen Chris lose control; there was blood in the water now, and Chris had an awful sinking feeling that he knew exactly how the rest of this would play out. The captain would taunt and prod him until he lost his temper, Chris would do something stupid, and he'd be kicked out of S.T.A.R.S.

"Well, Redfield? Nothing to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I really need to go."

It was the truth. He felt like he was suffocating in that room, and every additional minute with Captain Wesker ground away another chunk of his self-restraint.

"I don't think so."

Wesker's arm blocked his path, with one gloved fist resting on the door of Chris's locker. He looked up at the captain, unable to mask the frustration in his eyes, and tried to step around him. It was no good. Wesker blocked his path with his whole body this time, looming over Chris with a cool smile.

"Do you always run away from your problems, Redfield?"

The last of Chris's tolerance disappeared, and gave Wesker an honest, open glare.

"You know what? No job is worth this. Find yourself another point man."

He barged past Wesker and headed for the door.

"Quitting before you get fired?" The captain chuckled. "Pity you didn't think of that back in the Air Force."

Chris had thrown the first punch before he realised what he was doing, and the pain of Wesker's fingers crushing his wrist as the blow was blocked only enraged him more. He swung his other fist up, but the captain was too fast for him. Wesker had both his wrists now, and wasted no time in bringing his knee up to slam into Chris's stomach. Two hard blows had him doubled over, and a sharp elbow to the back slammed him to the ground. He hit the floor hard, crying out with a ragged groan as his ribs took the brunt of the impact.

Chris could barely think straight; his mind was a seething, confused mess of anger, fear and awe, and all he could focus on was the desire to lash out and release all of that tension and rage onto Wesker. Each blow, each hard slam of muscle against muscle, did things to Chris that he didn't even want to think about. He did his best to bury the ache of arousal that was burning though him, and braced himself on his hands and knees, willing himself to get up before the next blow connected, but he was just too slow. Wesker's boot thudded into his stomach, knocking the last of his breath away, and Chris toppled sideward to the ground, unable to do anything but lay there helplessly, waiting for the next attack.

It took him a minute to realise that Wesker had stopped. For a moment Chris wondered if he'd had his fill, but one glance up at the captain's face made his intentions clear. He was toying with Chris, letting him recover just enough to put up a fight. It was maddening; Chris had taken his share of beatings in the past, he'd been pushed around and roughed up, but he'd never been _played with_.

"You're-" He choked back a groan as his ribs blazed with pain, and pushed himself up to his feet. "You're holding back."

"Of course I am. I'm nowhere near done with you yet, Redfield."

The amusement in Wesker's eyes made something snap inside Chris, and launched himself at the captain, throwing all his weight into one desperate punch. For a moment it looked as if the blow might connect; then Wesker's lips curled into a smile and he dodged smoothly out of the way, grabbing hold of Chris's wrists again as he moved. Before he could even begin to struggle, Chris was pinned up against the lockers with his arms wrenched painfully high behind his back, and the unmistakable ridge of a hard cock pressing against his ass. His throat betrayed him with a little groan of desire, and the captain slipped a hand around to cup Chris's own erection, squeezing him roughly.

"And it looks like _you're_ not done with this yet, either."

The balance inside Chris had shifted from rage to lust, and he pressed back against Wesker, instinctively grinding and rubbing against him. He couldn't find the words to ask for what he wanted, but the long, low moan spilling from his lips made it abundantly clear. The cold touch of the cuffs snapping closed around his wrists wrung another groan from him, and he found himself swung around to face the bench in the centre of the room.

"Kneel," the captain said, and a sharp kick to the back of his knees brought Chris down before he could even begin to comply.

Wesker shoved him over the bench and held him there, one hand tight around the chain of the cuffs as the other made short work of Chris's belt and yanked his fatigues down just enough to expose his ass. Then the hand on the cuffs withdrew, and Chris knelt there silently, trying to slow his breathing as he listened to the sounds of Wesker unzipping and lubing up. There was no way the captain would go easy on him, Chris was sure of that, and he tried desperately to relax his muscles as much as possible as the head of Wesker's cock pressed into him. Chris's groans became hissed curses, and he shifted his hips, telling himself to relax over and over as each inch of the captain's cock stretched his ass a little further.

Finally his body gave up and yielded, and Chris moaned out a half-incoherent "yes" as the last of Wesker's shaft sank into him. He'd hoped for a minute to adjust and catch his breath, but the captain gave him no mercy whatsoever. He fucked Chris savagely, pounding his cock into him with enough force to shake the bench beneath them. Each stroke was deep and fast, and Chris found himself breathing hard and crying out for more from the very first thrust.

"Harder," he groaned, bracing himself against the bench, "faster-"

A tight fist in his hair yanked his head back, cutting off the words.

"Don't forget who you're addressing, Redfield."

Chris's face burned hot, and he closed his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Better." Wesker changed his angle, pounding deeper into Chris and driving another loud groan from him.

"Please-" he moaned, spreading his thighs wider and tipping his ass up, "harder, Captain."

"You're retracting that resignation, then?" Wesker's voice was smug and sharp with amusement.

"Yes, sir." Chris gritted his teeth and pressed back with his hips, thrusting his ass back onto Wesker's cock as if he was trying to split himself open. His enthusiasm seemed to earn the captain's approval, and he found himself pinned down by one gloved hand on the back of his neck. Wesker picked up his pace, slamming into Chris's ass brutally hard and fast. Chris writhed and struggled against the cuffs, desperately wishing that he could get one hand free to touch himself. The struggling seemed to please Wesker even more than a show of eagerness had, and the captain tightened his grip on Chris's neck, fucking him in long, deep strokes as he started to come. Chris shifted and squirmed, desperately trying to grind his aching cock against the edge of the bench, hungry for even the slightest touch, but it was hopeless; there was nothing he could do but kneel there and take it, shuddering and groaning as Wesker thrust into him one last time.

The captain was still for a moment, and the sound of Chris's ragged breathing seemed obscenely loud in the silence of the locker room. Then Wesker pulled out roughly, removed the cuffs and stood up, not even looking at Chris as he zipped up and straightened his uniform. It took Chris a minute to realise that this was it, this was all he was going to get, and he looked over his shoulder incredulously at the captain.

"Clean yourself up and go home, Redfield." Wesker said as he headed through the doorway. "I'll be expecting you in the office early tomorrow."


End file.
